Chapter 5

Next to me, Derek was laughing. "Oh man, did you see his face?"

I did see his face. It was ungodly beautiful, but that was hardly the point. I whirled toward Derek and demanded, "What was that about?"

Ignoring me, Derek announced, "Alright everyone, let's call it a day."

Around the table itself, no one budged. But behind us, the remaining interns stood and began filing out the door. That was fine by me. The way I saw it, the fewer witnesses the better.

After all, I still might have to strangle him.

When the room was empty of students, I turned to Derek and said, "Now seriously, tell me what just happened."

"Nothing," Derek said.

I turned to Andy. "Do you know?"

Andy shrugged. "Sorry. No idea."

"Oh, come on." I gave him a pleading look. "Obviously, something went wrong. It was like he didn't get the instructions or something. He was on the list, right?"

Andy looked down at his paperwork. "Yeah. Number twenty-two. A late addition."

"But what was his name?"

Andy looked up. "I wouldn’t have his name. Remember?"

Belatedly, it hit me that of course, he was right. This was all supposed to be anonymous, which had always struck me as incredibly stupid, considering that we met the candidates in person.

Sure, I got the logic and all. It was meant to keep the process free of "undue influence," as Claude liked to put it. But it had always seemed to me that if we wanted to keep it truly honest, we'd just view the art by itself, without meeting the candidates at all.

A couple of years ago, I'd actually asked Claude about it, since he was the guy who made the final selections. His response had been typical Claude. "We're not just choosing the art. We're choosing the artists."

I knew what he meant. Sure, an artist's work was the most important thing, but the artists themselves could play a huge role in their popularity – or lack thereof.

Desperately, I looked to Claude, hoping for some insight. But already, he'd gathered up his stuff and was heading for the door.

I called after him. "Wait. We need to find out what happened."

"Good idea," he said over his shoulder. "When you find out, let me know."

I stared after him. What part of "we" didn't he understand? But already, he was gone, along with everyone else, except for Derek, who had fallen back into his chair and was now scrolling through his cell phone.

I stared down at him. "You're a real ass, you know that?"

He didn’t even look up. "Hey, I wasn't the one who thought he was a stripper."

At the memory, heat flooded my face. "Yeah, because you made me think that."

Derek snickered. "I know. Funny, right?"

"It wasn't funny to me," I told him. "And I don’t think he was all that amused either."

"Not my fault if the guy can't take a joke."

"A joke?" I sputtered. It was one thing for Derek to humiliate me. But did he have to involve an innocent bystander? "You know, you were totally awful to him."

When Derek kept on scrolling, I reached out and ripped the phone from his hands. "Stop ignoring me," I said. "This is serious."

With a sigh, Derek leaned back his chair and said, "Alright. You wanna lecture me?" He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "Go ahead. Get it over with."

"I don't want to 'lecture' you. I want to know what happened." I studied his face. "You obviously know more than you're saying."

"So?" he said. "Maybe it's a surprise."

Already, the day had been full of surprises, and not in a good way. With more than a little dread, I asked, "What kind of surprise?"

"Well, it is your birthday."

"Forget that," I said. "I just want to know what's going on."

"And you will," he said, "as soon as I come up with a Plan B."

"A Plan B?" I made a sound of frustration. "I don't even know what 'Plan A' was."

When Derek made no response, I said, "Did you know that guy?"

"I might've seen him around."

Derek was a lawyer, but just barely, time-wise. He'd graduated from law school just last year and had only recently passed the bar exam. As expected, he'd continued to work for his dad's firm – the same one that had been managing my family's estate for as long as I'd been alive.

I tried to think. "Did you go to school with him or something?"

"As in college?" Derek snorted. "That guy? You're kidding, right?"

What an ass.

I was still thinking. This wasn't a big town. Maybe they'd run into each other at a restaurant or something?

Derek made a sound of annoyance. "Can I have my phone back now?"

"No."

Derek gave me a look I knew all too well. It was the why-are-you-being-such-a-brat look.

Nice try. Derek was only five years older than me. If that look hadn't worked in grade school, why would he expect it to work now?

Derek was still eyeing his phone. "You know, I could just take that from you."

No doubt, he could. Derek might not play a lot of sports, but he was no slouch. Still, I held onto the phone and waited.

"Fine," Derek said, getting to his feet. "You really wanna know?" He glanced toward the front of the boardroom, where the stranger had been standing just a few minutes earlier. "That guy? I hired him to paint something for you."

I did a double-take. "What?"

"Yeah. As a surprise." Derek's mouth tightened. "You happy now?"

I wasn't happy. I was confused. "So, it was like what, a birthday present?"

"That was the plan. But now, I've got to find another painter." He looked to his cell phone. "So, are you gonna return that or what?"

No. Not yet. I still felt like I was missing something. "So let me get this straight. You hired one of the endowment candidates to do a painting for me?"

Derek laughed. "That guy? Hell no. Are you serious?"

"I don't know," I snapped. "Am I?"

"Oh man, you are, aren't you?"

I was so tired of the games. Through gritted teeth, I said, "Just tell me already. Did you, or did you not, hire that guy to do a painting?"

"Sure, I hired him, but not to paint a painting."

"To do what, then?"

Derek gave a little smirk. "To paint the boardroom."

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. "Oh, my God." I glanced around, taking in the pale green walls. It was true that I'd always hated the color, but that was beside the point. "So that guy wasn't even a candidate?"

"For the endowment?" Derek laughed. "Hell no. He was just some painter guy."

Just some painter guy. I let that phrase rattle around in my brain. The more it rattled, the less I liked it. That was just like Derek, dismissing someone because they had a regular job.

What did he know about regular jobs, or regular people for that matter?

Nothing, that's what.

Derek had come from three generations of wealth. But with me, it wasn't like that.

Sure, I had all the trappings of wealth, and was often called an heiress. But before my dad hit it big, he'd come from a long line of factory workers, not that anyone liked to remember that, now.

I was still looking at Derek. What a jerk.

At something in my gaze, he shifted in his seat. "Hey, you're always griping about the color." He glanced away. "And it wasn't just the boardroom. It was the guest house, too."

The guest house was the least of my concerns. The whole estate needed work, but if this was Derek's way of helping out, I wanted no part of it.

I imagined myself in the stranger's shoes. He'd been called out here to do a job, only to be treated like trash and ridiculed for the misunderstanding – a misunderstanding that wasn't even his fault.

What a disaster.

And in front of me, there sat Derek, looking like he'd just had the time of his life. He flashed me a grin. "So, anyway." His tone grew sarcastic. "Surprise."

Oh, I was surprised alright. I gave Derek a hard look. "What did you do? Put his name on the list?"

"What list?"

As if he didn't know. "The list of candidates. Number twenty-two." My jaw clenched. "Remember?"

Derek only shrugged. "Hey, you had to meet him sometime, right? I figured, why not add him to the list, have some fun with it."

"Fun?" I sputtered. "For who?"

Derek laughed. "Well, I enjoyed it."

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, I looked down, only to feel myself pause. There it was, that folded slip of paper, the one the stranger had tossed down earlier.

Still clutching Derek's phone, I bent down and snagged the paper with my free hand. It looked like a business check, folded into a neat little square.

Derek held out his hand. "I'll take that."

"Why? What are you planning to do with it?"

"Rip it up, obviously."

I frowned. Well, that was convenient. So the stranger wouldn't even be compensated for his trouble?

Distracted, I said, "You want something? Take this." I dropped Derek's phone into his outstretched hand, and then unfolded the paper for a better look. Sure enough, it was an official business check, made out from the law firm of Derek's dad.

I zoomed in on the amount. "Only fifty dollars?"

Granted, this wasn't pocket change. But even in my own limited experience, fifty dollars didn't buy a whole lot of anything when it came to home-maintenance.

Derek said, "It's called a down payment."

"Oh." I didn't bother asking what the full amount would be, or who, exactly, was supposed to pay for it. Given my finances, I didn't want to know.

The check was made out to someone named Joel Bishop. I let that name drift around in my brain. I liked it. Or maybe, I just liked the thought of somehow, making things right.

Feeling suddenly inspired, I told Derek, "You can't rip it up."

"Why not?"

I squared my shoulders. "Because I'm going to give it back to him."

"You're not serious?"

But I was, which is why, a few hours later, I'd changed into casual clothes, and was standing in a campground of all places, staring down at a narrow, Earth-colored tent.

Yes, a tent.